


Cease Fire

by esteefee



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root has issues. The Machine retasks her via the primary asset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cease Fire

Without the Machine actively assisting them any longer, it was Harold's pet greyhound who got them away from Samaritan's goons by shooting off a couple of smoke grenades and then leading them down a side street. He kicked open an unused access tunnel entrance and then nodded to Root to take point.

At the time, she didn't question him, because Harold had the Machine clutched tightly in his arms, and the Machine was all that mattered. If monkey boy had even an inkling of a plan, Root would take it. 

Later, though, when he'd directed them unerringly through three substations to the main artery of their old subway line, she really had to wonder. It was too bad John had gotten himself shot again; his primary focus right now appeared to be just putting one foot in front of the other. 

Root would wait.

:::

"It appears our operation has not been compromised," Harold said once they reached their base of operations. Root didn't ask what safeguards and detection devices he had in place. One thing Harold could be trusted with was having the proper level of paranoia. 

"Where will you keep her?"

"We'll have to build something appropriate, of course. For now, the power supply in the case should last two weeks at least. I'll put a monitoring device on it." Harold slid the case right onto the shelf where Root had kept it last.

A clattering sound came from outside the subway car, and Harold raised his head, saying, "Mr. Reese?"

"It's probably just blood loss, Harold. He really should try dodging the bullets next time."

"It's the same wound from before. He's torn it open." The look Harold gave her was more furious than usual. He almost looked like he wanted to filet her. Interesting. Root wasn't sure why that made her stomach hollow out, the emptiness sharpening to a pang as Harold pushed past her to hurry to John, who was struggling out of his jacket on the tiled floor of the station, a first aid kit beside him.

"Oh, that's an awful lot of blood," Harold said as John tossed his jacket aside. Harold hovered but didn't get any closer. He really was the squeamish type, the poor guy. 

"I think it's pretty," Root said and knelt beside John. The varying shades of dried and wet blood made a gorgeous chiaroscuro on the left side of John's shirt. "But honestly, John. When will you learn?" She opened the first aid kit and started pulling out supplies, since even that seemed beyond John at this point. He'd leaned back against a tiled column and was gazing up at Harold with glazed eyes. 

"Where's the Machine?" John said, sounding concerned.

"She's safe," Root said, her voice sharp. She tore open John's shirt to get at the bullet wound and evaded his eyes, which had shifted to her now. 

"Too bad we had to box her up," John said, his whispery voice like sandpaper against Root's brain. She pushed harder on his wound with the iodine-soaked gauze, but he didn't react. 

"It was all we could do to save her."

"Yeah, I know. But I felt like she and I had finally reached a good working arrangement. She's pretty neat."

Root stared at him, her voice trembling with shock and fury as she said, "She is so far above you, you ant, you worm—how dare you talk about her as if you—"

"Root!" Harold said. And oh, her hand was bloody; her fingers had slipped. There was too much blood splashed over the scars and skin. 

John gripped her wrist and pulled it away from his chest. He was smiling a little. "She talked about you, you know."

Root almost didn't want to know which "she" he meant. He could mean either. And that was the problem, really, why her guts were hollow and filled with ice at the same time. He'd been too close to both of them. To all of them.

"The Machine?"

John nodded and released her wrist. "While we planned the exfil." He replaced the ragged piece of gauze and held out a hand, requesting some tape. 

Root felt herself calm as she cut a few pieces and offered them, one at a time, waiting for the verdict. "What did she say?"

"She said you're not ready to fly solo yet. Your moral imperatives still need a little work."

Well, Root already knew that much.

"And you need to work this last thing out. We're a team." John finished taping down the gauze and then started to pull the bloody shirt back over his shoulder. Root reached out to help him, and he froze, staring at her.

"What? I'm already ahead of you." She started to button his shirt—well, the few buttons that still remained. "Harold, can you get John a fresh shirt? This one is done for." 

"I'm afraid to leave the two of you alone," Harold said, and Root rolled her eyes.

"You can't control all the variables, Harold."

"Don't tell him that," John said. "You'll give him a headache."

Harold grumbled something and stomped off, leaving John staring at Root, a quizzical smile on his face. 

"What?" she said crossly. 

"So, she says make nice and you make nice? That doesn't seem fair. Maybe you have a legitimate reason to dislike me."

"Or maybe all she has to do is point out when my logic is flawed; at this point, you're nothing but old bullet wounds held together by scar tissue."

A mocking smile curved his cheek. "So, you're saying it's just a matter of time and I won't be around to bug you anymore."

Root shook her head and sighed. "No, you moron. You got those holes for her and for him. For Sameen, too." Root leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, smiling evilly when he blinked in shock. 

"Truce, then," John said, rallying, and his eyes flickered in warning as Harold returned, a black, V-neck sweater in his hands. Root took it and raised her eyebrows at the soft sensation of cashmere. 

"No further bloodshed, I hope," Harold said. 

"Nope. He's all yours, Harold. And you're all his too, I guess." Root felt giddy, as if she'd thrown off some infection she'd been carrying. Especially when she saw the expressions on their faces as they stared at each other. Oh, they hadn't even realized they were in love. How precious. The Machine must not have told John everything after all.

Well, it wasn't Root's problem. They'd have to work that out for themselves. And they'd better be careful of John's bullet wound, because Root wasn't going to handle first aid in the middle of the night. She had better things to do.

Sameen was waiting.

 

...............................  
May 14, 2015  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
